Raising our children has been a joy--not always blissful, but still worth every sacrifice. There have been multiple times during this pandemic that I have felt grateful for our full house---more noise, more interaction, more messes, and more work, but "more" is a blessing in a time when people feel particular stress about less--less interpersonal interaction, less sports, less toilet paper, less vacations, less money in the bank.
I have been a stay-at-home mom for over twenty-one years. During that time, I have always had little children as my constant companions. Every commitment away from home required me to consider who would care for the children in my absence. Being so closely tied to little ones for so long can feel restricting. It's not that raising children isn't a worthy pursuit, but a mother's individuality is always linked to the needs of somebody else.
This year was to be the first year that all my children would be in school full time. Finally, I could move about more freely during the day. Anticipating this new freedom, I looked into an internship as a literary agent assistant and researched graduate degrees in editing and writing. In my mind, I restructured my future daily schedule to include all of the things I had sacrificed during those baby and toddler years.
As plans circled in my mind, I began to feel oddly sick and tired. The girls and I were vacationing in Maine for ten days. I blamed the exhaustion on the time zone change. I blamed nausea on motion sickness from airplane turbulence and crab salad.
But when we came home from our trip, I realized my exhaustion and nausea were probably more and confirmed my assumptions with a positive pregnancy test.
It seemed unbelievable. Do you know the chances of pregnancy at my age is less than 5 percent? And that’s when a couple is not using preventative measures. Not only was I in shock, but I was also hurt and afraid. What about my plans to finally pursue my dreams? What about my health? I'm ashamed to admit this, but I also thought, "What are people going to think?" I could just hear the snide comments, "They're kind of old for that," "Don't they know about birth control?" "Didn't they consider her health?" More than that, I worried about not being able to be there for my older daughters when they got married and had babies because I’d have a baby of my own to care for. I thought about the sacrifice I was forcing on my other children when I would be too sick to care for them properly--morning sickness, bed rest, hospitalization. All of these things crashed down on me as I sat on my closet floor at 4 a.m.--all alone--the only one who knew and didn't know how to deal.
I told Rick the next day but couldn’t talk about it with anybody else. It was too big and too new and the outcomes were too uncertain.
Life became even more uncertain when a series of events at the University of Arizona propelled Rick to consider employment at other universities. Another betrayal. I thought we'd live in Tucson for the rest of Rick's career. We have a strong network of friends here and family nearby. We've worked hard to remodel our house with long-term upgrades. I love winters without ice and snow. Moving is hard. And where would we go? When? Would there be a good hospital there? Would I need a good hospital? The job and relocation questions tied up with health and family questions. I was bitter at the price I'd have to pay.
When I say moving is hard, it's not just the adjustment to a new home and community--it's the hours of cleaning, organizing, packing, unpacking, finding new routines--new places to shop, new doctors, disconnecting and reconnecting utilities, house insurance, house shopping, house selling. Hours and hours and hours were being stolen from me. What about the things I wanted to do? Rick would try to talk through different job options, places to live, what we needed to do to get our house market-ready, and I'd think about the baby, my health, our family, and all those stolen hours. I didn't want to do any of it, but it seemed like the decisions were being made for me without regard to the sacrifices I'd be making.
Two things helped me wrap my mind around the pregnancy and the possibility of a move.
First was a conversation in my writing group about being hopeful instead of reasonable. When we're hopeful, we open ourselves up to more options, more ways to move forward, more success in life. The opposite is also true--we can limit ourselves with logic. The funny thing is, we were talking about camping and how because it's so much work we go the easy route and give excuses--the kids are too little, we'd have to find a camping spot, we won't sleep well, the weather might be bad. These excuses limit our ability to open up to the potential positive family experiences and bonding that can happen when you’re camping.
Rick and I stink at taking the kids camping, but we have experienced a lot of blessings in our married life when we have made choices that push past the bounds of reason. I’ve discovered that most logical, and even reasonable excuses, are simply masks for fear. How often do I say, "I can't" when I really mean, "That's hard. I'm afraid. I don't want to. I don't know how."
This conversation about choosing hope over reason fed thoughts about miracles. I decided if it was a miracle that I was pregnant (and it was), then more miracles would follow. I became determined not to let reason or logic prevent me from seeking those miracles. I also began to focus less on why this situation wouldn’t work because of logical and reasonable challenges. Instead, I looked for solutions and blessings in the form of everyday miracles.
The second thing that helped was an inspiration that came to me as I listened to an LDS General Conference talk by Elder Octaviano Tenorio entitled, "The Power of Godliness is Manifested in the Temples of God." He shared the heartbreaking story of losing their first baby at only one day old.
As I listened to this talk I had a powerful impression the child we were expecting really needed to be a part of our family no matter the sacrifice. This is what I wrote in my journal about it:
July 14, 2020
I had a thought this morning while listening to conference talks and getting ready for the day. This child. This unexpected but still wanted pregnancy needs a place in our family more than I need whatever else I hoped to do with my time and energy. It's hard, but knowing that Heavenly Father knows this person and me and our family means I can make room. I can change my perspective. I can be ready to welcome the challenges, whatever they are, because this child belongs with us.
The lesson for me in this shot of inspiration was that when something is right, and I know it's right, the sacrifice is worth it. Even though I can't possibly know what will come of the sacrifices without moving forward, I can know that the price I pay will be returned to me tenfold or more. It's a pattern I'm familiar with and that I've experienced over and over again, but in those first moments of uncertainty, I had allowed my doubts to shadow the truth.
These two big worries that took up so much emotional and physical space for me over the next few weeks were not the only challenges I dealt with, but they were the biggest. And the two impressions about the reality of miracles and the necessity of sacrifice prepared me to handle the next few weeks of surprises, heartbreaks, difficult decisions, and hard work.
At nearly 11 weeks along, I miscarried. It was a scary few days which included a trip to the ER, multiple tests, a false diagnosis of molar pregnancy, and piercing migraines. I think the entire experience deserves its own post that I'll write one day so you can read all about the funny stuff that happened. (You might be wondering what's so funny about a miscarriage? Well, miscarriages aren't funny, but I am funny—even in horrendous circumstances). If you didn't know about the pregnancy and miscarriage, please don't feel bad. I literally told nobody, except Rick. Not even our kids knew until I was gushing so much blood that I couldn't leave the bathroom. And afterward, I found I just couldn't talk about it. When I forced myself to talk, it was so physically and emotionally exhausting I began to avoid the conversation altogether. I'm sorry for taking the easy way out and sharing it through writing.
So, my family and health questions have been answered. But the question of a move is still in the works. I know, though, that the juxtaposition of the pregnancy and the move are not happenstance because the lessons I thought were meant for the one thing, seamlessly apply to the other. The pregnancy forced me to think outside the box, to hope for miracles, and to see solutions to problems that I thought were unsolvable. The pregnancy reminded me of what I already knew about the importance of sacrifice. When inspiration leads one way and I know it's right, the price to be paid is always worth it.
We're probably going to move—to leave the lovely Tucson winters, kind colleagues, and strong friendships. We will be far from family once again.
Faced with the news of our move across the country, many near family and friends have expressed feelings of hurt and confusion. We understand these feelings completely because we have had them ourselves. To comfort our doubters, we have tried to explain the reasons for our move, only to be met with misunderstanding. We get this too. It’s hard to logically explain something that may not completely follow reason. Unless you have felt the guiding influence we have felt through the process, any reasons we give will fall flat. Besides that, we only think we know the reasons for the move, and until we get there and experience what God has in mind for us, we cannot exactly know why.
Even though I know it will be hard, time-intensive, sad, and exhausting, I know it’s the right thing to do, and I know the sacrifice will be worth it. I can say this even though I don't positively know what will come from all of it.
I had a good visit with my sweet friend, Ann, last week. I was an emotional mess preparing for that visit because I knew I'd have to talk about why I hadn't been healthy enough to visit her in so long. I'd have to talk about pain, heartache, faith, and miracles, and I knew I'd be a puddle of tears and snot. And I was, but when I sniffed in the snot under my mask and wiped my tears, she said, "We just don’t know what’s around the corner for us, do we?” And we sat there together without talking. I don't know what she was thinking, but I was thinking of all the times I had been surprised (good and bad). All the hurt, joy, tears, laughter, tension, and peace. And I said, "We might not know what's around the corner, but we can know, no matter what it is, it will be okay."
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